


the cold can burn

by voidfins



Series: light of day [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, agnst, plot? never heard of her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 07:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidfins/pseuds/voidfins
Summary: Aramis thought that getting locked in a walk-in freezer was the worst thing that could happen, but the possibility of losing his best friend is so much worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure this is the equivalent of me showing up 6 months late with Starbucks. Long time no see! But I've been lurking. It's been an honestly terrible year all around, and I'm just now getting around to writing again. Requests are open (as long as they aren't explicit) and I'd love some one-shot ideas! Otherwise, enjoy!

This had to be the stupidest thing that had ever happened to him. Apparently the universe had been watching too many cliched crime shows, because outside of that he was pretty sure that this wasn’t a thing.  
  
“This isn’t a thing,” he said out loud.  
  
“Obviously, it is,” Porthos said, not even glancing up from where he was inspecting the door. The door to the walk-in freezer they were trapped in, which had no handle on the inside.  
  
“This has got to be some kind of health code violation,” Aramis complained, wrapping his arms around himself. They were both wearing jackets for the rainy spring weather outside, but the chemical cold was quickly seeping through the thin material that was made for keeping rain off, not heat in. He tried very hard not to think about how cold it would get if they were stuck for long.  
  
“I dunno what to tell you,” Porthos said, sitting back on his heels. “Doesn’t look like I can get this open from this side.”  
  
That was not what he wanted to hear. “Maybe we could shoot it,” he suggested.  
  
“What would that do?” Porthos snorted. “Besides get us both killed via ricochet?”  
  
"At least I’m trying to come up with a solution,” Aramis snapped. He immediately bit his tongue. Porthos wasn’t the problem here, and didn’t deserve his misplaced anger. He tried to swallow down the threads of panic creeping up his esophagus that were screaming at him to get out. To his credit, Porthos just looked at him for a long moment, waiting.  
  
“Sorry,” he said.  
  
“We’re going to get out of here,” Porthos said. “Besides, Athos will come sniffing around when he can’t reach us. You know how paranoid he is.”  
  
“Especially now that he has d’Artagnan to keep track of,” Aramis said, laughing a little.  
  
“Kid’s a trouble magnet,” Porthos agreed. “Any luck with your phone?”  
  
Aramis checked the screen again. It still showed “No Service” in the top left corner. He thought it should at least have an exclamation point after it to show the gravity of the statement.  
  
“No,” he admitted reluctantly. “Nothing.” He left Porthos to fiddle with the door some more and examined the rest of their “resources.”  
  
The building was an old meat packing plant, long since abandoned by any legal sort of owners, and recently abandoned by its not-so-legal owners. They’d come to check for evidence left behind that they could use against a group that had been organizing their drug empire out of the old warehouse. It had been empty of people since the ring had gotten wind that they were being investigated, but Athos hoped that in their haste to leave they had made a mistake. He had sent Aramis and Porthos to look into it while he and d’Artagnan gathered evidence against a judge that had been bribed. Although cautious, Aramis hadn’t been too worried about encountering an unsavory types. What he hadn’t counted on was a booby trap.  
  
The rest of the building had shown signs of a hurried departure. One of the lower levels included a gigantic industrial freezer. Something pinged Aramis’ brain as he examined it, but he couldn’t figure out quite what it was until he shouldered the door open and stepped inside.  
  
“Why is it cold in here?” he asked out loud.  
  
“What?” Porthos questioned, stepping through behind him and letting go of the door. Aramis took a step forward and stumbled when his foot hit something. There was a quiet click, and the door slammed shut behind them.  
  
It had barely been fifteen minutes since then, but it felt like much, much longer.  
  
“So what are we going to do?” Aramis asked. He hated how thin his voice sounded, how much he was hoping that Porthos had a solution.  
  
“I guess we wait,” Porthos said. His heart dropped down to the pit of his stomach. Porthos continued: “Athos knows where we are, and with how paranoid he’s been lately he won’t wait much past our check-in time to come looking. That’s in—” he checked his watch, “barely an hour. We’ll be okay until then.”  
  
Aramis wanted to protest, but he’d already given away too much, if the careful way Porthos was watching him out of the corner of his eye was any indication. He turned and began pacing their temporary prison instead while Porthos turned his attention to rummaging through the contents of the boxes stacked haphazardly in corners and on metal shelving units. Aramis ignored the way he talked to himself as he went and focused on trying to figure out why their group of criminals would bother setting a trap in an old freezer. Was it set for them, specifically? Was it a practical joke? Was there some larger scheme in play?  
  
“Ha!” Porthos crowed, startling him out of his contemplations. “Look at this.” He waved a sheaf of papers in the air.  
  
“What is it?” Aramis asked.  
  
“Evidence,” Porthos told him, smug. “Partial bookkeeping records. They must have missed it when they cleared out.”  
  
“How careless of them,” Aramis said. That find would make Treville happy, for sure.  
  
“I love careless criminals,” Porthos said. There was silence for a few moments. Then Porthos said: “would you stop pacing? It’s making me dizzy.”  
  
“No,” Aramis flung over his shoulder, continuing his circuit of the small space, but he didn’t protest much when Porthos grabbed his sleeve when he went by and dragged him down to sit by him. They were both shivering by this point, and Aramis was pitifully grateful for the heat that Porthos, human furnace, was putting off.  
  
Aramis had always been a tactile person. It came from having a family that wasn’t afraid to show affection, and he sometimes forgot that other people weren’t like that and overstepped boundaries. But Porthos had never seemed to mind it, and he had used every excuse he could think of to get close to the man, telling himself that it was as good as it would get. And now they were actually huddled together for warmth—something he could only dream about—and he couldn’t even appreciate it because he kept seeing dead men out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“What is it?” Porthos asked.  
  
“What’s what?” he said. He didn’t want this conversation. Not ever, preferably, but most definitely not now.  
  
“Don’t,” Porthos said, suddenly serious. “I know what’s going on with you, and I won’t stand by and watch if I can do something about it.”  
  
Aramis laughed, but it was a grating sound. “There’s nothing anyone can do about it. It’s fine.”  
  
Porthos was silent for a moment. “It’s Savoy, right?” he asked. Aramis caught himself mid flinch, but it was enough of a confirmation for Porthos.  
  
“What set it off?” Porthos asked. “The cold?”  
  
Aramis hesitated, but there was no point in trying to hide it anymore and, anyway, he was tired of trying.  
  
“Not just the cold,” he began, halting. “I mean, we live in Canada for god sakes. If it was the cold I’d be a basket case.” Another not-laugh. “It’s the cold, and being stuck, and…” he trailed off. And the fluorescent lights glaring off the white walls, too similar to moonlit snow, and the phantom pains of old wounds. Porthos didn’t make him finish the thought. Instead, he pulled Aramis closer and wrapped an arm around him.  
  
“It may not seem like it now,” Porthos said, “but you’re here, and not there, and we’ll get out of this. Athos will come riding in on his white horse and save the day.”  
  
Aramis snorted, in spite of himself. “He just got used to Roger, don’t push it.”  
  
“We’ll just spray paint Roger white, it’ll be fine,” said Porthos, waving his free hand.  
  
“I don’t think d’Artagnan would go for that,” Aramis said, “he’s very protective of his horses.”  
  
“Eh, I bet if I found an animal safe paint I could convince him, “Porthos said.  
  
Aramis looked over at him to catch a glimpse of the sparkle that he knew would accompany the good-natured teasing. Porthos looked back at him and leaned in, maybe to say something else, but then they were kissing and it was better than he had ever allowed himself to imagine. He didn’t know who had started it, and he didn’t care—  
  
And then there was a bang at the door and it scraped open. They jumped apart just before Athos stepped through, gun raised. He put it down on seeing them.  
  
“What took you so long?” Porthos asked. “Stop for coffee or something?”  
  
Aramis wondered how he could sound so normal when his own heart was beating like a bird in a cage and he was sure Athos had seen, or could sense what had happened.  
  
Athos shrugged, clearly relieved to see them. “I thought about it, but I couldn’t stand the thought of you two whining if I didn’t get you two something.”  
  
D’Artagnan popped his head around the frame. “We’re getting coffee?” he questioned.  
  
“First we’re getting these two medical clearance,” Athos said. Aramis started to protest that there was no need for that, but Athos cut him off. “I won’t make you go to the hospital, but you’re seeing Rourke,” he said, unshakeable. Aramis sighed at the thought of having to be checked over by the Garrison’s in-house doctor, but there was no point in arguing with Athos over something like this.  
  
“Can’t forget this,” Porthos said, hauling the box of evidence up with him. Aramis breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped out into the relatively warmer air of the warehouse. In the background he could hear Athos asking about the box, but he concentrated on taking deep breaths of non-recycled air and kept his eyes on the sunlight peeking in through the cracked windows.  
  
D’Artagnan came over to him, making a little more noise than he normally would. Aramis wondered if he looked that spooked, and decided the answer was probably yes.  
  
“You okay?” d’Artagnan asked, standing near, but not crowding him.  
  
“Fine,” Aramis said. And mostly that was true. He was in for a few sleepless nights from the dreams that his fear was sure to stir up, but some of that was overshadowed by the hazy realization that he had kissed Porthos. Or Porthos had kissed him, he wasn’t completely sure.  
Now he just had to figure out what to do about it.


	2. Chapter 2

What he did, in the end, was avoid the situation. They both did. Aramis wanted to say that he hadn’t realized how awkward it would be to act like everything was normal after kissing his best friend, but he had. It’s why he most emphatically hadn’t done it for years.  
  
At first it was fine. As fine as it was going to get. They both just did their jobs and kept their heads down and just...didn’t talk to each other. Oh sure, a “good morning” and “good night.” Whatever was necessary for missions. But it wasn’t the same. D’Artagnan noticed before Athos did. They didn’t give the kid enough credit for being observant, but in Athos’ defense Treville had volunteered him for a committee and it was taking up an obnoxious amount of his time, as well as being irritating.  
  
“That is the fourth email that Gladys has clicked reply all to this morning,” Athos fumed on a Wednesday when they were all sitting at their desks. “Why hasn’t she retired yet? This is not even relevant to what we’re meant to be talking about.”  
  
D’Artagnan looked up, glancing hopefully at Aramis and Porthos before giving in and filling the growing silence himself. “Is it about her grandchildren again?”  
  
Athos frowned at the computer screen. “Great-grandchildren. I think. It’s in all caps.” When no one answered with the usual sarcasm, he finally looked away from the email. Aramis most certainly did not make eye contact, and he could practically feel Porthos doing the same. “Is something going on that I don’t know about?”  
  
“I think I’ve found something promising with the Anderson case,” Aramis said. “The brother-in-law’s alibi doesn’t check out.”  
  
Athos was sufficiently distracted. “Good. You and Porthos go and interview him again. D’Artagnan and I will talk to his friends and see if we can get them to stop protecting him.”  
  
Aramis panicked a little. That was not the result he’d been looking for.  
  
“Actually, do you mind if I take d’Artagnan?” Porthos cut in. “I need his thoughts on some computer things.”  
  
It was a flimsy excuse. Athos stared at him for a long moment before nodding curtly.  
  
Aramis grabbed his things in silence. It was what he had wanted, but it still hurt more than he thought was possible.

  


*****

The car ride with Athos was one of the most uncomfortable things Aramis had ever experienced, and that included being left for dead. Athos didn’t say anything at first, and that was terrible because Aramis could see him thinking through all of the things he wanted to say and discarding them one by one. Treville really should recruit him for teaching interrogation tactics.  
  
“So,” Athos said finally. “Would you like to explain what the problem is?”  
  
“There’s no problem,” he tried. “Just busy.”  
  
“Flagrant lying, is it? I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me like an idiot.”  
  
Aramis winced. He’d already alienated one member of his team, and it looked like he was well on his way to losing another.  
  
“Look, Athos…” Aramis started, but trailed off. He didn’t know how to have this conversation.  
  
“If you’re not going to tell the truth, don’t bother,” Athos said, but it wasn’t as sharp as it could have been. “But you need to fix it, whatever it is. This not speaking to each other thing isn’t going to work for long.”  
  
Aramis looked down at his hands. “I’m not sure it’s fixable.”  
  
“It has to be,” Athos said. “Because the alternative is one or both of you being transferred. Treville won’t put up with it. So fix it, because none of us want that.”  
  
They were both quiet until Athos parked the car. Aramis didn’t know what he was going to do, but Athos was right. Something had to give.

*****

It had been easy to get the brother-in-law’s alibi to crack after threatening criminal obstruction, and even easier to get him to confess after seeing that his friends had left him high and dry. They wrapped up the case quickly after that and Aramis knew that his window of opportunity was closing fast. If he didn’t talk to Porthos now, he never would. He took his chance when Athos was reporting to Treville and d’Artagnan was making a coffee run. Porthos was at his desk, head down and filling out paperwork.  
  
“I need to talk to you,” Aramis said without preamble, watching his (ex?) best friend’s shoulders stiffen as he spoke.  
  
“Aramis—” Porthos started, putting both hands on his desk and pushing away from it. Aramis cut him off.  
  
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It was—it won’t happen again, but I can’t stand to leave you all because of this.” The words poured out in a torrent. He had stood without noticing it.  
  
Porthos stared at him.  
  
“I’m pretty sure those are supposed to be my lines,” he said finally, “seeing as I was the one who started the kissing.”  
  
“You started—” Aramis spluttered, beginning to wonder if he had overlooked a very important piece of data. “Then why are you avoiding me?”  
  
“I panicked!” Porthos threw his hands in the air. “I thought you hated me! And then you started avoiding me. What was I supposed to think?”  
  
“Oh my fucking god,” Aramis groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He heard Porthos get up and come around the desk, but refused to look up until the other man was standing in front of him. When he did, Porthos looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.  
  
“I take it there’s been some miscommunication?” he asked.  
  
“You could say that,” Aramis agreed. With Porthos standing so close, he had to tilt his head back to make eye contact.  
  
“So does that mean kissing wasn’t such a bad idea after all?”  
  
Aramis pretended to think. “Let’s find out.”  
  
It was just as good the second time.


End file.
